When Griffin walks in, I’m not surprised. He grins happily at me, while I glare back.
“Aww don’t be like that girl!” He says, coming over to me.
Thankfully, he takes the ropes off that were tying me down.
Sitting up, I rub my wrists to get the blood flowing again, and to ease the pain a bit.
“I already knew that you most likely wouldn’t come freely, so I had to do that.” Griffin explains. Just then I realize where I am.
I’m in a sterile white therapist’s office. I had been tied down to one of those little couch things.
“Now, I’m going to try something new with you. Close your eyes and lean back.” When I don’t comply with what he said, he shoved me back and just the minimal amount of contact got my heart beating faster and my breath coming out in short gasps.
“Oh shut up I’m not gonna hurt you. I think so at least.” He says and I unwillingly close my eyes.
“Relax. Think back to the day everything happened.” His voice says softly and I do so, not wanting to in the least.
Thoughts come rushing into the front of my mind, leaving me want to cry and scream. Flashes of blood and dead bodies everywhere, pictures of people’s faces looming above me, pitying looks on their faces.
Frantically, I try to pull myself out of the coma like state he somehow put me in.
I don’t want to remember, I don’t want to remember.
I whimper to myself, internally.
After struggling for a while, I finally seem to be able to break through the strong hold his voice and the memories have created on my mind, and as my eyes flutter open, I’m already running out of the room, out of the door.
Down the hallway.
Up the stairs.
Past some sheep patients.
Up more stairs.
Down my hallway.
Only to come to a skidding stop when I see him.
It’s a guy, around the age of 16 or 17, standing at the end of the hallway.
My hallway
When he hears me coming, he turns his head and looks at me.
I’m not looking at his face though, my eyes are traveling down to look at his clothes. He’s wearing some sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt, which is what most of the guys here wear.
“Are you Senna?” He asks quietly, taking a few steps closer.
On reflex, I whimper.
“I take that as a yes. I’m not going to hurt you. My parents sent me here because I supposedly need ‘help’. The doctors and my parents told me to come up to this floor, to this room.”
Blinking, I tilt my head slightly to look at him, puzzled. He’s got short blonde hair and green eyes.
“I’m supposed to share a room with you.”
WHAT?!
YOU ARE READING
Insane Doesn't Even Begin to Cover It...
HorrorSenna is in an insane asylum for witnessing something no one should ever have to see. She doesn't talk, and she hates being touched. Many people have tried to get through to her, but how can you fix something that you don't know anything about?
